Page 2 of Nightmare Island

Sten and I lock eyes across the gap between us. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—respect, maybe? Or just bloodlust. It doesn’t matter. I give a curt nod, and Sten does the same.

“Then begin!” the old man shouts, his voice carrying over the constant rush of water.

I don’t hesitate. The moment the word leaves his mouth, I’m moving. My hands find purchase on the rough stone, muscles bunching as I haul myself upward. The rock face is fucking slick with spray from the waterfall.

Jagged edges dig into my palms, drawing blood, but I barely notice. Pain is temporary. Victory is forever. My bare feet scramble to find my footing on the ruthless surface, toes curling around the smallest of ledges. Each step is a battle against the mountain itself.

Sten is moving, too, his larger frame giving him an advantage as he reaches for handholds farther up, but I’m quicker, more agile. I scramble up the initial incline, ignoring the burning in my muscles.

The wolves below us howl and snarl. To them, this is entertainment—the best kind. Blood sport. I tune them out, focusing on the climb and on Sten’s progress beside me.

We’re neck and neck as we reach the first major obstacle—a sheer rock with barely any handholds. Sten grins at me, feral and wild, before launching himself at the wall. His fingers dig into tiny crevices, his boots scraping against the stone as he hauls himself upward.

I grit my teeth and follow suit, finding fingerholds to pull myself up. The muscles in my arms scream in protest, but I push through it, heaving for breath.

Pain is just weakness leaving the body, and there’s no room for weakness here.

As we near the halfway point, I chance a look up. The summit seems impossibly far, a jagged spire thrust up against the blood-red sky. Doubt creeps in. Can I really do this?

I snarl at my own shortcomings.Fuck yes,I can do this.I’m going to own this damn mountain, this insane island, and every lunatic shifter on it.

My heart pounds in my chest. Sweat stings my eyes, blurring my vision. I blink rapidly, trying to clear it. One wrong move, one misplaced hand, and it’s all over.

Sten is just to my left, his breathing heavy and labored. I can smell the bitter fear on him, my inner wolf stirring inside me, eager to battle.

The wolves’ howls down below grow louder, more frenzied, stirring my own.

My fingers slip on the slick stone, and my pulse charges. I’m convinced I’m going to fall, but I dig deep, drawing on my strength, and pull myself up.

A sharp edge catches my forearm, slicing deep. Blood wells up, hot and sticky.

“Fuck,” I hiss through clenched teeth. The cut throbs.

Sten notices my slip and grins. Fucker! He pushes harder, gaining ground. I can’t let him win. I won’t.

I force myself to go faster, ignoring the stinging of my wounds. Each movement is agony, but I embrace it. Pain means I’m still alive, still fighting.

Three-quarters of the way up, each breath is a struggle. My lungs burn, desperate for oxygen, but I can’t slow down. Can’t stop.

Sten’s breathing grows ragged, too. Our gazes meet for a brief moment. There’s a wild desperation in his gaze that sends a chill down my spine.

Suddenly, Sten’s hand darts out. He’s holding something—a loose rock, jagged and deadly. Before I can react, he hurls it at me with a snarl of rage.

Time seems to slow. I watch the rock spinning toward me, but it misses my head by inches, clattering down the mountainside.

I snarl in response, anger busting within me.

The force of the throw must have pushed him off-balance because as I glare back at him, I watch as his foot suddenly slips, and he’s scrabbling for purchase on the smooth stone. He hangs there by one hand.

I grin, watching fear crowd in his eyes as his brow furrows and his lips tighten.

His grip slips.

He falls.

His snarls tear through the air, raw and primal. He plummets, arms flailing wildly as if he could somehow catch the air and stop his descent.

I watch, heart in my throat, as he hits the Gravewater pool with a sickening splash.

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